Part 4 (2/2)
”What makes you think I won't just reach over and take it from you?” He said and puffed up his chest.
”Look into my eyes.”
He looked.
”Now down my chest.”
Oddly enough, he complied.
”Now down my arm, my hand, the one in my jacket pocket. What do you think that bulge is?”
”Give me two guesses?” He asked.
”Sure.”
”Your lumpy biscuit.”
”Give it a second guess?” I c.o.c.ked the hammer of my Engholm. The click was distinct and audible even in the cafe bustle. The waiter who'd come to take McGraw's order turned and suddenly found someplace better to be, somewhere far away from the big ugly men. McGraw gave me his best tough guy grin. b.l.o.o.d.y filth.
”So what's the offer? What does that card cost?”
”Costs nothing, mate. I need friends, not currency.”
McGraw's face turned red with frustration. Some men have no stomach for clever words and riddles.
”You want me to be your friend? That's it?”
”Sure. Of course, all my friends owe me favors.”
”Listen, fats. I'll have it in plain English. What do you want?”
”If I had a friend, a good friend, he'd come to my home with gifts. I love Swan Lake, particularly scenes with the lovely Swan Princess. Call me a fan.”
McGraw caught on. He looked around real careful to make sure we had no listeners. He leaned in and gave me his library voice.
”You're mad, fats,” he said. ”I read your file before coming here. You murdered an old man. Claimed his clockworks came to life and did the deed. Wonkers.”
”Not all his clockworks. Just one,” I whispered back.
”And you want me to lift this clockwork from a secure location? Past Metro guards?”
”Yes.”
McGraw tilted back in his stool. I attempted another sip of my fine Indian magma.
”I don't get the benefit,” he said. ”You're a dead man, a hangman's place holder. I don't know what favor got you bailed out, but making the Swan disappear won't save your case. She's not anywhere near the best evidence against you. You've got Metro witnesses placing you smack in the middle of mayhem. You're the only living man near a dead man and a room of absolute nutter carnage. Have no delusions friend, you will swing for this.”
”Maybe I've unfinished business with the Swan. Something I want to wrap up before my big day.”
McGraw stopped smiling and gave me a long regarding look, like he was trying to spot the crazy on me.
”Alright, if you're playing the fool, then I'll give you a fool's bargain. The Swan for my card.”
”And all the pieces found near her.”
McGraw nodded. I took my gun hand out of my jacket pocket and we shook on the deal.
”Come find me at the Piece Work Inn when you're done. When will you have her?”
”Soon, fats. Real soon.”
McGraw got up and left in the same deliberate point A to B line he'd entered with.
I abandoned my molten cup. Our waiter was talking to a manager and from the way he glanced over at me, I'm sure the conversation was not complimentary. I'm not an expert in the finer points of law, but I imagine armed conflict in a tea shop violates the terms of my bail. So I left.
The Piece Work Inn was really more a brothel than an inn. It was an inn in the barest sense. There were furnished rooms that a gentleman could hire for long or short terms. The building itself stood three stories, making it the largest structure in its neck of the city. It even contained a lift, a modern marvel strangely placed among the wh.o.r.es and desperate men. Prost.i.tutes dominated the first floor. Women of all ages and not a few races, made common to each other in their dress. They wore bright silks and fur like plumage on tropical birds. Also like birds, they cooed and squawked and loosed words without meaning. Faces painted like Zulu warriors. The dominant smell of the lobby was talc.u.m layered onto the musk of s.e.x. I'd like to say that my past dealings with the Piece Work were purely professional. I guess they were if you take into account the oldest profession.
What the Piece Work lacked in respectability, it made up for in discretion. I'd met the doorman and clerk on half a dozen occasions, but never exchanged names. The sign-in ledger read like a Smith-Jones family reunion. Ever the contrarian, I signed myself in as ”Hugh Ja.r.s.e” and proceeded to my room.
The room itself was clean. The walls were cleaned and scrubbed; a faux-Persian rug centered the room. Regardless, I stripped the quilt and sheets off the bed. Gross is gross and I'll not risk sleeping in the residue of strangers. I took stock of my surroundings. The Piece Work had natural security in the form of a pimp conglomerate, who technically stood as the owners of the establishment. On the down side, my window was nailed shut, a preemptive measure against customers skipping out on their tabs. There was a knock on my door. Not authoritarian this time, but soft, polite, almost apologetic. Far too early for McGraw, I hoped for one person to be on the other side of that door. I opened it, and there she was.
Mary Kelly, often called Dark Mary, but never by me. She claimed to be Black Irish and possessed the dark curls to prove it. I knew better. Her eyes were cornflower and her voice turned to Welsh inflections when she got excited, meaning she was about as Irish as a Scotch terrier. Mary smiled at me.
”Jolly, I saw you in the lobby. Here for fun?”
She invited herself in and put a hand on my swollen face. Her fingers were weightless, like chicken bones ready to break at a rough grasp. The skin of her face was covered thick in beige makeup, then blush. Her eyes were painted gold to compliment the cornflowers. Some of the shadow seeped into crow's feet. She had once been beautiful, but her face was losing shape from too much drink and long nights of being a wh.o.r.e.
”My poor big baby,” she cooed. I never liked that pet name.
”Listen, Mary.” I reached up for her hand with my own. She grasped my bandaged paw with both of hers.
”Jolly, this is serious.”
The wound was turning red and tender. I figured a doctor's visit would be in order when all this business wrapped up.
”Nothing is serious, love, nothing but death and debt. I'd love to talk, but I'm on the job.”
Mary looked into my eyes and smiled. We had a past, one I don't want to talk about. Though given her profession I guess the math is simple. We knew each other.
”You need someone to take care of you, Jolly. You look like you fought a bear.”
”You should see the bear.”
She giggled and put her hand over her mouth. ”You want me to come back? When your business is over?”
”Yes.” I didn't have to think hard about that one.
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